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She was gone.
Ferryn was gone.
And don't ask me how or why, but I simply knew she wasn't coming back.
And it was right about then that it hit me.
That I couldn't find the strength to hold it together anymore.
And I just broke.--LoThe leader in me knew I should have gone into the house, neutralized the threats with my team.
But everything within me felt pulled to the girl who slowly lowered down to her knees in the front yard, like they had finally, finally given up on her.
She dropped down there, just an inch from the dead body of a woman who had held her captive for an untold amount of time, seemingly unable to find any strength even to move a few feet away.
Just giving up.
And I knew that look.
In her eyes.
I knew that goddamn look.
I had seen it so many times.
Too many times.
On the faces of far too many girls and women.
But the one that came to mind the most, the one that looked as wrecked as she did right then wasn't one of those masses.
It was Janie.
She looked just like Janie had.
When I found her.
When I simply knew what she had been through, tried to save her.
When she begged for me to just let her die.
That was who this girl looked like.
That was the haunted terror in her eyes.
That was the hopelessness there, the realization that even if her body were now safe, her mind would never be.
I felt it back then, and I felt it as I carefully approached this girl.
A deep-rooted need to wrap her up, to protect her, to love her, to give her some of my strength, to convince her that this wasn't the end, to build her back up, to make her into the woman I knew she could be, a woman who wasn't defined by something that happened to her, a woman who would pave her own way in life.
It was an animalistic thing, something encoded into my DNA.
Something, maybe, just maybe, I would call a maternal instinct.
"Honey," I said, tone low and lilting, the kind you'd use on a scared animal. Which, well, was - if you thought about it - exactly what I was dealing with. I slowly knelt down in front of her. "My name is Lo. I'm Ferryn's aunt," I explained, wondering if she was even hearing me. She seemed zoned out, somewhere else entirely. "What's your name?" I asked, pushing the AK backward, making the strap between my breasts make a scratching sound against the material of my shirt.
I didn't even think twice about it until her eyes sought the gun, making me wonder if I should have discarded it before approaching her.
But she didn't jerk back or stiffen up; she just looked at where it was poking out at my hip for a long moment before her gaze rose to mine.
"Chris. I'm Chris."
"Chris," I agreed, nodding a little. "Do you maybe want to get out of here?" I asked. "I have a car. We can go anywhere you want."
"I want a shower," she said immediately, making me aware suddenly of the dried blood and dirt on her skin, the grease and mats in her hair.
A shower was the last thing you wanted to do after being raped.
It destroyed evidence.
And there was no mistaking it.
She had been raped.
If I knew anything about it - and I did - many, many times. By many men.
But my people, well, they had orders.
Namely, we were cleaning house.
No prisoners.
Just bodies.
There was no redeeming these people.
Our court system seemed unwilling to take rape cases to trial, let alone convict them.
So we were handling justice this time.
Whether that was right or not was open to interpretation.
But it was what was going to happen.
So there would be no need for evidence collection.
There was no reason she couldn't shower.
"Okay. A shower. We can do that," I agreed, standing slowly, reaching my hand down toward her.
She looked at it for a long moment before placing hers there, letting me pull her onto her feet.
"And food," she added, voice barely a whisper as she fell into step beside me, her hand still clutching the toilet tank cover.
She could keep it.
On the walk back to the car, the drive out of this town and into Navesink bank, then the short walk up the driveway of mine and Cash's home, she did, she kept it.
Just in case.
She could keep it.
As long as she needed it.
Then I would replace it.
With a knife.
A gun.
She would never feel defenseless again if I had any say in the matter.
And as I handed her a pile of fresh clothes that made tears well up in her eyes, and switched on the water for her, seeing her head hang as she finally let the tears come, not even bothering to swat them away, knowing more would just replace them, I decided I would.
